Music Reviews from an overanalyzing junkie. Submissions for LPs and EPs are open! amcnal817@gmail.com

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Whomever said punk is a young man’s game is sorely mistaken. Last night, I got to see Television live, and even in 2015 they absolutely crushed it. I’ve been doing some thinking lately, nothing more than shower musings, about who I think is the best band in each genre of music, the one that defines it the most. I haven’t come to many conclusions, but one that I did come to was that Television was the best punk band. Sorry, Clash. The band’s attitude and style is what did it, but they convinced me as much in 2015 as they would have in 1976.

Punk, as I have come to understand in my years transitioning from Rancid to Patti Smith, is more a spirit than a genre. It’s not necessarily about anarchy and destruction, though a part of it. It’s about doing what’s unexpected, unwanted; breaking the status quo. Iggy & the Stooges did this in Detroit, so did the MC5. They rallied against the sex, drugs and blues-rock and roll of the time in the same way Black Sabbath did. They upped the volume and came out angrier. The Ramones changed the game again by setting a template – power chords, 2:30 songs with apathetic or political lyrics. This template is still in place today – everyone from NoFX to the Dropkick Murphys to FIDLAR follow this format in some way. But that’s the problem – it’s a format. Punk, itself, has an incredibly tired and ironic template to it.

Television was one of a few CBGB’s bands in the late 70’s that seemed to foresee this template problem. Blondie and the Talking Heads added pop elements, and took off a whole new genre. Patti Smith was setting her spoken word poems to music. Television looked less at the music and more at the template – short songs, fast, loud music, and did away with all of it. Their classic album “Marquee Moon” is marked with slow-burners, tracks over (or well over) five minutes, and long, technically proficient guitar solos on every song. A virgin ear might mistake them for a classic rock band living in the wrong part of the city. Their songs are restrained, but the band has an energy to them – noticeable on the very first chord of “See No Evil” – that says they can run with the big dogs, they’re just choosing not to.

Tom Verlaine’s lyrics, making allusions to poetry and art (the Venus de Milo, for instance), didn’t stand on the same platform as, say, “I Wanna Be Sedated.” Maybe Television was in the right place at the right time. Or maybe, when we look back at them today, we still consider them a punk band because their music demands so. Technically remarkable lead and rhythm guitars interlock across albums, with Verlaine’s and Richard Lloyd’s tension almost palpable. And with the general lack of guitar distortion, and a clean, jazzy sound, it was the purest of music. It was what the other bands weren’t doing. It was punk.

I truly had no worries about Television ruining this legacy for me. I knew that if they couldn’t sound great live, they wouldn’t tour. And they delivered, from a performance standpoint – next to nothing was changed in the songs. At first I was disappointed in the lost opportunity for longer solos, but then I remembered that their albums aren’t punk statements, they’re works of art, and fine art should not be tampered with. And as such, their setlist consisted of every song off “Marquee Moon,” out of order. Verlaine played piano sections on his guitar, muting his strings to sound like piano keys. And on a number of songs, he self-indulged and plucked and warped the strings to sound like a one-man string section. I couldn’t wrap my head around it and I still can’t.

The crowd was as diverse as expected – fathers and sons, lost young scuds like me, and older burn-outs. A man in front of me who could have passed for Hilly Kristal wore a Patti Smith Group sweatshirt and jammed to every song like it was his 200th time seeing the band, gleefully ignorant of the 35+ years behind him. To the right of me was a pretentious 30-something who played air guitar the whole night, despite having a drink in one hand and his other arm over his girlfriend’s shoulder.

But aside from the performance, Television delivered in the punk spirit as well. Permanent Lloyd stand-in Jimmy Rip came out in a bowl hat and beard that looked like a high-dollar Tom Waits Halloween costume. Verlaine, in an unzipped hoodie that may have been a size too big (he hasn’t gained a pound since they shot the “Moon” cover). The setlist consisted of “Marquee Moon,” but the encore was pure unpredictability – “Little Johnny Jewel,” a cover of Count Five’s “Psychotic Reaction” (always a staple of their live show), and an unreleased track called “I’m Gonna Find You.” Their second two albums “Adventure” and “Television” were left untouched. The show itself had an aura of unpredictability – opener Dennis Driscoll performed with an improvised saxophone, courtesy of Morphine’s Dana Colley, and his set ran long. Soon into Television’s set, someone behind me yelled to turn the bass up, to which Verlaine pointed to Fred Smith and said aloud, “Move closer to him.” Verlaine was louder when he was talking to the audience than when he was singing into the mic, the vocals lost in the music. And in the encore, when they were transitioning between “Reaction” and “Find You,” a game being played by an excruciatingly bored security guard on his phone was audible. For a show with 65+ year old men on stage, in a small but classy venue and a randomly assorted audience, a punk spirit still came through. The Ramones may have passed, the Sex Pistols riddled by death, the Clash riddled by maturity. But for one night, the spirit of 1976 came through, if only briefly. Television, keep doing your thing.

“Oddballs” was originally released in 2000, but only online and was not widely publicized. For whatever reason, he chose to release it in CD form thirteen years later. It seems like an odd choice, given that the Pixies just released a new single, but maybe that’s the exact reason – it might be more publicized if people are searching for new Pixies music. “Oddballs” might be stumbled across, giving it the attention it never got. That said, it is just a compilation of music Black recorded that were B-sides or didn’t make it on other albums. B-side compilations are, traditionally, boring and pretty useless. “Oddballs” is better than most, but still falls to some subpar tracks and ideas that should not have been acted upon.

The songs on the album were recorded between 1994 and 1997, the three years after the Pixies’ initial break-up. The songs, on the whole, maintain the intensity of the music of his former band, while distinctly sounding like a solo artist. There is no screaming and wailing, no Kim Deal on bass and no lyrics about bodily mutilation, separating it from the Pixies. It just often maintains the speed and volume of the Pixies’ albums.

Lyrically, it is far less interesting than Black’s former (and present) band. One of the two best tracks, “Pray a Little Faster” is darkly entertaining, but other tracks with titles like “Can I Get a Witness” and “Everybody Got the Beat” approach the exact, oft-extracted ideas that the titles sound like. Black’s attempts to separate his solo work and be seen as a viable solo artist are beneficial, but tracks like the ones on “Oddballs” do make the listener yonder for classic Pixies songs instead.

Something should be said for the album’s surprising flow. Given that it is a compilation, there is no expectation of it working as an actual album, just a collection of misplaced tracks. But Black structures it so it flows and never stays on one idea for too long. The opener (the aforementioned “Pray”) kicks off with a bang, that is sustained until the album’s midpoint, the only two songs over four minutes mix things up. The album’s closer and other best song, “Man of Steel” works perfectly as an outro, with a bombastic repeating coda. The song was likely written as a closing song that never found it’s place.

“Oddballs” is better than most rarities collections, but it is still barely good enough to stand on it’s own legs. It separates Black from the Pixies, but the album’s imperfections remind listeners of just how perfect the latter really was. Black’s “Oddballs” more often than not sounds a little too traditional and most of the ideas are not fleshed out enough. “Oddballs” should please die-hard Black fans, and likely only them.

If you like this, try: If you’re into rarities, check out “Little Johnny Jewel” and “Untitled Instrumental,” two songs that got cut from Television’s legendary “Marquee Moon” and are just as good as every song on the album.